by Lindsay C. Sidders

the backstreet boys sound better
than 1996 when she could have
pushed me over that cliff. I know she
wanted that for us. cruel eyes. pointer
fingers. concrete like a trampoline
where you are trying to belong. plush
police preying parent pandemic. these
words blinking too white. too try hard.
he’s a koala on fire, save him. no no
he’s more like an English cucumber.
I can’t read this. can you read this.
my timeline leaks and groans like a dam.
the mayor blocked me and zeppelin
has two e’s. I miss feeling small things Big
now that big things feel Tectonic like
Airhorn like a bear you must hug tight.